


In the Camera's Blind Spot

by AmuseMe



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One, Transformers: Shattered Glass
Genre: Characters being gits, Dirty Talk, Implied Mpreg, Incest, M/M, Oral Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Religious Themes, Rough Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-11 23:00:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3335975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmuseMe/pseuds/AmuseMe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Small smutlets/drabbles with various characters involved in various sexual situations, from dirty secrets to illicit affairs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. [G1] Skyfire/Optimus Prime  >> bribery

**Author's Note:**

> These are old smut drabbles that I had originally on livejournal and then decided to post here. I will be adding new ones as time goes by. I'm open to prompt suggestions (though I can't promise all prompts 100%), so message me if you want me to write something.

“Tell me about him.”

Skyfire's optics dimmed, his gaze fixated aimlessly at the wall. A long moment passed before he answered, "He had the tightest, slickest valve I've ever had the pleasure of 'facing. It would squeeze around you like a vice and when he'd get close to overload, it would grip you and refuse to let go..." His large, white hands smoothed over Optimus' helm, fingers brushing lightly across the protruding blue antennas. "And the noises he'd make...Oh Primus...he'd always be wet and ready for me."

His lips parted, a long groan rumbling from his vocaliser as his head dropped back. His hips started to thrust gently upwards and Optimus skilfully swallowed that broad spike as it inched further down his throat tubing. Skyfire's vents stuttered loudly when he felt a talented glossa curl around him, causing the pleasure to singe through his circuits. He continued to talk, a quiet murmur against the humming of cooling fans.

"He had this nasty habit of ranting about the most insignificant of things. The best way to shut him up was to put that pretty mouth of his to work. In fact-” A gasp. “-ah, keep doing that! Oh, you feel so good! H-He'd get so hot that he wouldn’t bother waiting for me to overload him. All he needed was my spike in his mouth and three fingers jammed up inside him." It was so strange hearing such crass words coming from such a normally mild-mannered mech.  Skyfire abruptly growled, the foreign sound unexpected. "That little tart."

The Prime's knees fell further apart, dark optics unwavering on the shuttle's face. He pulled away for a brief moment; Skyfire's lubricant evident on his lips, gleaming smears around the corners of his mouth. Why, if his Autobots could see him now, surely they'd be horrified by the sight. On the floor, pleasuring someone who still pined after another. Optimus just had to make sure that their only method of aerial transport would not snap one day and rejoin his Decepticon ex-lover.

"What else would Starscream do?" he demanded, his tone low and hoarse with arousal. "Tell me."

Skyfire's optics brightened as if he finally came to from the sordid memories he had submerged himself into. He caught Optimus' chin with firm fingers, forcing the unresisting leader back down onto his waiting spike. "He'd run his denta ever so slightly across the length...would drive me crazy..."

And Optimus did so, his efforts rewarded with the subsonics of a powerful jet engine vibrating through his spark, travelling down his energon lines before settling between his thighs as a dull, needy ache.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm open to prompt suggestions. I can't guarantee that I'll do all of them though so msg me here or tumblr (sexlessdemon19) if you want something specific.


	2. [G1] Prowl/Red Alert, Ironhide/Sideswipe >>penalty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble contains non-con and mean characters.

The light emanating from the monitors cast a sickly, pale glow on his face, sharpening his fine features into a plane of harsh angles and deep shadows. He placed a hand on the controls in front of him, the pad of his finger rolling the trackball lovingly, zooming in on one of the video feeds. The display he was currently fixated on showed two red mechs – one bent over a crate while the other dominated him.

Prowl first concentrated on Sideswipe’s face. The expression could almost be called exquisite; the full lips twisted and stretched thinly over the clenched denta and those over-bright optics, already bleeding white at the edges from the excess emotion. It was obvious that the frontliner was trying hard to be brave... but he was failing fast.

Then Prowl slowly rolled the trackball further on down, slowly to allow himself to soak the sight of that trembling red chassis riddled with tension and fear before letting it stop when Ironhide came into view. He admired the smooth roll of those powerful hips as they slammed ruthlessly into Sideswipe’s aft. Prowl zoomed even more and as the image focused itself, his lips parted and a soft, appreciative sigh passed through his vents.

Sideswipe finally screamed, a hoarse sound underlined with pain and ruined slightly from the distortion caused by the speakers. Ironhide was speaking, his voice gravelly with lust and packed with malicious glee.

“You have no idea how many times I fantasised having you like this,” Prime’s proud bodyguard was saying. “Finally teaching you a lesson. Fraggin’ you hard, fillin’ you up till you scream and bleed.” One blue optic dimmed while the other intensified, giving Ironhide a crooked look. He grinned widely. “C’mon, you little glitch... lemme hear you beg. Beg for me to stop!”

The hot, wet suction surrounding Prowl’s own extended spike suddenly stopped and he spared the mech kneeling between his splayed thighs a quick glance. He pinched the distracted bot’s chin between two fingers and pulled, pressing the hard length of his spike back against the slack mouth.

“Red Alert,” he chastised with a low tone. “Don’t dawdle. It’s highly unbecoming of you.”

The Security Director appeared almost drunk on pleasure and Prowl tugged on a sensory horn, prompting him to continue his task. He was not disappointed; Red Alert mouthing along the ridges with such enthusiastic vigour that Prowl groaned softly from the pleasure.

A half-strangled sob was heard and Prowl fixated his gaze back onto the monitor. And what a beautiful image he was greeted with - crystal-clear and a near perfect angle where he could see everything. Ironhide’s impressive spike was modified with several lines of rounded protrusions and a hungry glint passed over Prowl’s optics as he watched it disappear into Sideswipe’s body, each hard thrust forcing it past the rim of the abused valve to stretch the scraped walls within. Cables strained between the gaps of Sideswipe’s pelvic armour and leg joints, the red thighs streaked with energon and lubricant and dripping onto the floor below. Ironhide grunted before leering nastily at his victim, his fingers digging dents into Sideswipe’s plating.

Enjoying the show immensely, Prowl shifted back comfortably in his chair, absently tracing Red Alert’s helm as it bobbed up and down on his lap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm open to prompt suggestions. I can't guarantee that I'll do all of them though so msg me here or tumblr (sexlessdemon19) if you want something specific.


	3. [G1] Sideswipe/Sunstreaker  >> mutual

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble contains brotherly incest.

One yellow finger trailed teasingly up the proudly erected spike, bumping along the line of prominent ridges that Sideswipe knew from firsthand experience how good they felt.

“Finger yourself,” his twin instructed roughly. “Show me how you like it.”

Of course, Sunstreaker knew exactly how Sideswipe liked it. But he loved watching. He loved watching Sideswipe’s digits pump inside that deliciously tight valve, a sight that would forever have his engine revving with excitement. And Sideswipe didn’t refuse him... he never did. His twin, his eternal bondmate, the other half of his spark. The red mech shifted, spreading his legs wider and tangling them with yellow limbs as they sat facing each other.

“Like this, Sunny?”

 Sideswipe moaned lightly as he trailed a fingertip around the lip of his valve. Fluid already began to seep from the opening and it flexed as if beckoning him to ram himself inside until he couldn’t tell where he ended and where his twin began.

“More, brother,” Sunstreaker growled, brilliant blue optics brightening with desire.

He squeezed the hot metal of his spike in emphasis, igniting the pressure sensors until he was left aching. A bead of his own lubricant appeared and rolled off the head, trickling down and disappearing between the joints of his fingers.

“No, brother,  _you_ give me more,” Sideswipe demanded vehemently.

“Not until you show me how you like it!”

With a snarl, Sideswipe roughly jammed two digits into his valve. He twisted his torso to the side, supporting himself with one hand and tilted his pelvis up, offering his twin the utmost, perfect view. Those two fingers were already glistening, wet and merciless as he plunged them inside him over and over again. A barely audible  _click_  was heard as Sideswipe’s spike rose up from its housing and he cried out, gaze fixated intensely on Sunstreaker’s own interface array.

“You’re leaking,” Sideswipe observed, words hoarse with pleasure.

Sunstreaker offered his brother a radiant smile as he stroked himself faster while he shamelessly bared his valve, showing it off to hungry optics. He rolled his hips smoothly in the air and ran his glossa over his full mouth, “Do you like it? It’s all for you.”

Sideswipe responded by adding a third finger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm open to prompt suggestions. I can't guarantee that I'll do all of them though so msg me here or tumblr (sexlessdemon19) if you want something specific.


	4. [G1] Ratchet/Ironhide  >> forceful

“You really are too good to me,” the CMO breathed, optics flickering with pleasure at the red helm moving between his thighs.

Ironhide, of course, did not answer – his mouth was already full to the brim with Ratchet’s fully extended spike. The medic curled one white leg around Ironhide’s broad shoulder, bringing the other mech closer and trapping him against his deceptively strong thigh. He gripped both sides of Ironhide’s helm. A startled yelp escaped Ironhide’s vocaliser as he was abruptly yanked away from what he had been suckling on and Ratchet chuckled softly. The medic canted his brightly-coloured pelvis, tilting his spike in the air and then guided his lover’s faceplates close again. The hot length of metal caressed against the grey cheek, lovingly leaving smears of oral fluid and lubricant across the dermaplating. Ironhide’s optics dimmed as the tip of Ratchet’s spike brushed against his parted mouth.

“Do you want to touch me?” Ratchet asked with an amused smile, gaze hungrily following each and every glistening trail he left on Ironhide’s face. “You want to, don’t you?”

“Let me touch you,” Ironhide begged plaintively, the twang of his accent noticeably heavier. “I’ll make it feel good, I promise.”

Ratchet’s expression rapidly changed – from the dreamy look that almost didn’t suit him to the hardened features he usually wore when dealing with the twins.

“Tough,” he snapped. “You will remain here pleasuring me until I forgive you.” The dreamy look was back as suddenly as it had disappeared. “Now open wide, darling.”

Ironhide had no choice. Ratchet had disabled the mechanisms in his shoulder joints, leaving his arms hanging limp and useless by his flanks. Those beautiful, slim fingers pressed down harder on the sides of his helm, urging him to act and he readily did so. Ratchet’s hips surged forward, slamming his spike through Ironhide’s open mouth. His throat tubing had tightened up with the sudden intrusion and his vents sputtered in protest. Ratchet didn’t seem to care however. He pumped his spike in and out of that slack mouth, ruthlessly using Ironhide for his pleasure. The ridges bumped against the sensor nodes inside the warrior mech’s palate, mandible stretched downwards to avoid his denta from catching.

“Oh...my beautiful, strong warrior... “ the medic was moaning. “You have no idea how slagging good you look like that.”

_Beep-beep._

It was Ratchet’s com. With a wicked grin directed down at the mech kneeling at his legs, he dragged that submissive mouth over his spike again until it was no longer discernible; Ironhide’s lips flush against his housing. Then he placed the audio feed on loudspeaker, answering it in his usual gruff manner.

“What.”

“Ratchet,” Prowl’s smooth voice filtered through. “Do you have those reports ready?”

“They’re finished yeah. Do you want them now?”

“That would be preferable yes,” Prowl replied in the sort of bland tone that indicated he was simultaneously studying datapads.

“Well I’m busy at the moment. If you want them  _now_  now then you can come down yourself and get them,” Ratchet said.

There was a pause on the other line before the tactician acquiesced. “All right. Will be there shortly.”

Ratchet ended the call and lazily gazed down, his clever fingertips massaging the corners of Ironhide’s mouth components where they were stretched around the girth of his spike. “Now... if you don’t want Prowl to catch you being a whore, then you’ll get me to overload before he comes down here.” He gave the side of Ironhide’s helm a patronising pat. “You’ll have to work fast though... you know how efficient he is.”

Static was heard when Ironhide drew back until only the tip of the firm spike was resting on his lower lip. “Ratch... are ya insane?!”

“But ah...” Ratchet grinned slowly, confident and a little scary in Ironhide’s opinion. “I admit that I want him to catch us like this. Just so I can see the look on his face. With luck, maybe he’ll join us. I wanna see how Mr Uptight looks while he’s ramming that hot little valve of yours from behind. You’d like that wouldn’t you? I know I would.”

The only thing Ironhide could manage was stare back, mortification evident in his intensely bright optics. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm open to prompt suggestions. I can't guarantee that I'll do all of them though so msg me here or tumblr (sexlessdemon19) if you want something specific.


	5. [IDW] Drift/Perceptor  >> indulgence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble contains dub-con.

** >> indulgence i **

The med bay was devoid of life; it was late and most of the medical staff were deep in recharge already. Only a lone figure stood, surrounded by sterilised surfaces, dim lighting and the soft, steady beeping of monitor machinery.

Drift heaved a sigh through his vents. He stared past the large glass screen, separating him from his current obsession and when he knew that his desire had finally presided over his will, he allowed himself access into the isolation chamber.

“Perceptor...” he breathed, voice barely audible.

The source of his lust didn’t greet him back, mouth unmoving and chassis still on the berth. Turmoil’s blast had destroyed chunks of his torso and as a result, what was left of the outer breastplate had to be completely removed, exposing inner circuitry, gears and a closed spark chamber. A multitude of wires of all shapes and sizes were connected to his innards, monitoring his spark-beat and overall status. Drift had to stop for a moment to admire the other mech, noting how vulnerable and how beautifully  _naked_  he was.

“Perceptor,” he repeated more firmly, nearing the berth to lean over the recharging scientist.

Drift’s instant fascination began the moment Perceptor invaded his personal space and blithely pointed out his modifications. It hit fast, causing his spark to pulse strongly and the urge –  _Primus!_  – an urge he hadn’t felt since he was Deadlock grip him hard.

He contented himself briefly with trailing fingertips over a teal forearm before deciding that he needed more. The berth was just wide enough for Drift to hoist himself up onto it and straddle the other mech, knees digging slightly into the red flanks as he made himself comfortable over the prone body.

Drift wasn’t the type to pine like a lovesick fool from afar. And Perceptor continued to lay still, oblivious to Drift’s hunger.

He brought his face close to Perceptor’s, close enough to notice a miniscule scratch across the other’s nasal ridge. With a soft moan, he nuzzled the smooth, cold cheek and traced the small mouth with his glossa, shining it with protective oils. Then he craned his neck to the side, moving his lips down the lax throat cables. He yearned to bite onto a particular prominent one, to tear at it with his teeth and scar it, to permanently mark his claim. But not now...not yet, at least.

Drift scooted further down, teasing himself while he deliberately brushed his crotch and inner thighs against Perceptor’s pelvic plating. His hands gripped the edge of the berth tightly, balancing himself as he hunched over the open chest cavity, busying himself with placing light kisses across Perceptor’s spark chamber. A long, narrow crack marred the scorched surface and a sliver of shimmering, blue light could be seen peeking from within. It hadn’t been welded shut just yet; not necessarily life-threatening but anything close to the spark needed skilled, steady hands and the medical centre was short-staffed at the moment. Drift eagerly dragged the tip of his glossa along the crack, enjoying the electrifying sensation of Perceptor’s spark rising up to meet him through the gap.

A garbled moan was heard above him, followed by a short burst of static. Drift didn’t stop his ministrations but glanced up just in time to see Perceptor’s optics slowly begin to flicker online. The scientist stared at him blearily for a long astro-second.

 “Are...you...w-what...are...” The words were heavily slurred.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Drift reassured him. “I’m Drift. Remember me?”

 “Dri...D-Drift?”

“That’s right. Drift. I saved you, remember?”

Perceptor’s optics brightened momentarily in realisation but all he could manage were his vents hitching with a gasp. Drift had cut him off by dragging his teeth slowly along a primary energon feed connected to his spark chamber. No doubt the Autobot was highly confused why there was a near stranger straddling him and performing intimate acts that should be reserved for trusted lovers only. Before he could voice his protests though, burning pleasure flashed through his neural net, making itself known despite the large amount of sedatives floating around his system, Drift had shot from his bent position to kiss him. More static escaped Perceptor’s vocaliser but the other mech ignored it, forcefully devouring his mouth with an insistent glossa that sought his. He whined when Drift pulled away – although he wasn’t sure whether it was from indignation or need.

“I want you,” Drift stated simply.

Perceptor could only stare, mesmerised by the sheer intensity of the other’s optics. Drift on the other hand, was battling with Decepticon programming that he thought he had long purged. Possessive ideals that reared their ugly head, telling him to take and take and to the pit with the consequences.

 _Conquer_ , that wicked little voice crooned,  _you saved him when the others thought him dead. He owes you. You own him. It is now your right._

He caressed Perceptor’s face with the back of his hand and smiled. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?” He appeared visibly relieved when he was answered with a shake of a dark helm. “Good. Because I was serious what I said before.”

And Perceptor, logically inclined as always, blurted out the first thing that came to his cpu the moment he got his vocaliser properly calibrated. “I am currently unfit to engage in interfacing sessions so soon.” Then as an afterthought, he added as sternly as he could, “I also am not one for casual interfacing either.”

Drift laughed darkly and Perceptor never knew that a mere sound could cause his valve to flex involuntarily in wanton need.

“Oh no no, my cute scientist...I don’t think I could ever love and leave you. In fact, I plan on making you mine.” Those white lips curved into a sultry smirk. “And I’ll be doing all the work today... I’m gonna ride you straight into overload... but ah...” Drift’s smirk widened, revealing a gleaming incisor. “...But next time, when you’re feeling better, you’ll be riding  _me_.”  
  


* * *

** >> indulgence ii **

Perceptor made a half-hearted gesture to stop Drift but his weak wrists were grasped firmly in one strong hand, pulling his arms over and pinning them on the berth above his helm.

“You don’t want to do anything to jar your injuries further,” Drift murmured disapprovingly.

The Autobot opened his mouth to answer but all he could manage was a choked gasp. Drift had began to lower himself down, slowly relaxing the joints in his knees so he could impale himself fully onto Perceptor’s rigid spike. All thoughts of protest, doubts and fears vanished from his processor the very moment that hot, slick valve engulfed him. It sucked him up inside, wrapping itself around his length so tightly as if refusing to relinquish its prize.

In the dim stillness of the isolation chamber where the machinery’s beeping quickened along with Perceptor’s spark, Drift rolled his head back, throat cables sticking out in stark relief and he exhaled noisily through his vents. His optics had dimmed to a pale grey and a lazy smirk widened his mouth as he stared down at the scientist. And the scientist stared up, his own mouth slack with pleasure and sedatives, marvelling at just how gorgeous the other mech was.

Drift ran a glistening glossa across his lip components and purred. “You feel so good, Perceptorrrr...”

_Oh... oh... Primus..._

Perceptor bucked his hips up, chassis in desperate need for more stimulation. A thin whine escaped his vocaliser but alas, Drift was too heavy and he was still too injured to do anything. The hand gripping his wrists tightened possessively and Drift started to move his hips, setting a leisurely pace. He’d lift his pelvis up completely, until the only the tip of his lover’s spike remained inside before sinking back down, clearly enjoying the smooth glide. And up again... and then down again until his own lubricant began to trickle down the spike and gather at Perceptor’s exposed interface array.

Poor Perceptor didn’t know what was happening to him. All he knew was that he wanted to slam into that clenching, wet heat and those various warning windows popping up into the periphery of his vision can go to the pit. He could feel his damaged chest straining from the effort, pain and pleasure melding together into one intense emotion, zapping through his circuits like liquid fire. He tried to break free but Drift was insistent in his grasp, holding Perceptor down firmly. 

“Sit still, darling or you’ll hurt yourself... let me do all work. Just lie back and enjoy yourself, hmm?”

If Perceptor was feeling his normal self, he would have most likely been embarrassed by the little gasps and mewls that he kept making each time Drift deliberately flexed his valve around him, the walls rippling enticingly along the sensitive, sensor-laden ridges of his spike. He arched as much as he could, mouth open and expression pleading.

“Please, please, please,” he kept vocalising, not really sure for what exactly.

Drift grinned and twisted his hips down  _hard,_ grinding Perceptor’s spike deep within him until every inch of his hungry valve was touched.

“You want a kiss?”

“Y-Yes... oh!”

Perceptor’s fingers twitched, curling and digging into the back of Drift’s unyielding hand. His mouth was conquered, forced open and lips nipped almost savagely upon. A stray thought darted through his processor, not staying long enough to be seriously pondered.

_This must be how Decepticons kiss._

Then Drift paused, one corner of his optic brightening as something obviously caught his attention. He never stopped the movement of his body but tilted his helm slightly to the left. Perceptor followed to where Drift was now smirking at. His gaze was unfocused at first before he recognised the figure looking into them from outside.

Springer was scowling fiercely, fists balled up against the glass. And Drift’s smirk was decidedly smug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm open to prompt suggestions. I can't guarantee that I'll do all of them though so msg me here or tumblr (sexlessdemon19) if you want something specific.


	6. [G1] Ultra Magnus/Sunstreaker >> demand+stretch

** >> demand ** ** **

Ultra Magnus cocked his helm to one side and gave the mech kneeling between his spread legs a stern look.

“I have duties and you can’t remain like this hidden underneath my desk all day.”

Sunstreaker pursed his full mouth into a pout. “I can’t help it, you slagger-“

“That is not the correct way to address an officer-“

The yellow twin continued talking as if never interrupted, “-you’ve got me thinking about you all day. It’s distracting and Sideswipe is beginning to suspect.”

“Let me correct you, Sunstreaker. You’ve been thinking not about me, per say, but about something specifically _belonging_  to me.”

 “I can’t help it,” the frontliner whispered. “It’s the biggest I’ve ever had and it feels so slaggin’ good too.” He grinned and then ducked his helm, nuzzling lightly against a red thigh. “Why if I wasn’t so damn good-looking and too busy with myself, I’d spend all day waxing and admiring it instead. I’d even erect a shrine to it too...” The grin then morphed into a contemplative frown. “... Though I can see my brother bitchin’ about it.”

But Ultra Magnus did not sound impressed. “Stop being a brat and get out. I have work to do.”

His obnoxious new lover feigned an injured expression on his faceplates which did not suit him at all.  “I am truly hurt. I offer you pleasure beyond your wildest dreams and you tell me to get out?”

The bigger mech stared blankly before laughing, a rumble emanating from the powerful engine of his alt-mode. “Alright then."

Surprise passed briefly over Sunstreaker’s features – obviously he had prepared himself to cajole Ultra Magnus all day in letting him stay. “Really?”

 “Yes really. Convince me.”

There was still faint traces of disbelief and suspicion. “Do I get you where I want you?”

“Hn... depends where exactly you want me.”

A golden hand flattened on his closed panel and Sunstreaker grinded the heel of it teasingly into the metal. “You know exactly what I want.”

Ultra Magnus’ lips twitched upwards. “Enlighten me.”

Sunstreaker growled low in his vocaliser. “You just like hearing me say it... Fine, I want that big,  _big_ ,  fat spike of yours. ‘Facing me hard and deep.”

“Well then,” he said, appearing unmistakably self-satisfied. He caressed Sunstreaker’s head fins lightly, tilting that attractive face up. One fingertip trailed across the mech’s high cheek structure. “What are you waiting for? Tease it out.”

Ultra Magnus lounged in his chair invitingly, placing his pedes flat on the floor and spreading his thighs wide to show off his polished pelvic plating and prominent crotch in an attractive, bold display. An easy command was sent and the panel between his legs slid open with a soft  _shnik,_ although he purposely did not extend his spike just yet. The yellow twin’s optics flared at the sight, mouth parting with clear longing. Forceful hands pushed Ultra Magnus’ thighs even further apart, revealing more of the powerful cables that were normally hidden between the armour plating. And Sunstreaker dove into them like an energon-starved mech, pushing his face into the gaps and mouthing where he could reach. He allowed the tip of one incisor to graze along the surface of one thick line and the mech above him shuddered. When he moved to the other side so he could lap at the tense cables there, Ultra Magnus’ legs began to tremble ever so slightly and when he pulled at a dark wire with his denta, one thigh actually twitched. The sound of whirring fans was much more louder now and the plating beneath his hands and mouth was heating up fast.

A raspy command. “Lick me somewhere else.”

_Oh... how the tables have turned..._

Sunstreaker tweaked his mouth into a small, pleased smile. “Where do you want my mouth, Sir?”

“You know exactly where I want your mouth,” Ultra Magnus rumbled with a harsh tug at the twin’s exotic helm crest.

With great eagerness, Sunstreaker latched his mouth directly over Ultra Magnus’ sizable spike housing and  _sucked_.  He swirled his glossa into the opening, feeling the head of the length protruding past the rim;  a clear indication of just how gifted the commander was.  A low groan above him, vents hitching with each passing breath.

“More...”

He slithered his digits back into the pelvic gaps and tugged gently on the thinner wires before smoothing them carefully between the tips of his fingers. He was rewarded by Ultra Magnus allowing his spike to extend ever so slightly... until Sunstreaker probed the opening engraved into the tip of the slowly materialising spike with his glossa. Ultra Magnus bucked his hips from the pleasure and Sunstreaker doubled his efforts as more and more of his prize exposed itself straight into his waiting mouth.

“Oh... so tasty,” he whispered, the words muffled as he dragged the inside of his top lip component across the hot metal before engulfing the entire thing straight into the cavern of his mouth until it began to press at the back of his throat tubing. The normally vivid blue optics of the front liner were now dim with obvious bliss as he lovingly suckled on the spike like a treat, humming out his satisfaction deep from his vibrating vocaliser.

“Enough!”

Ultra Magnus’s patience thinned to the point where he snarled like a feral beast and yanked Sunstreaker’s helm away from his interface array, just before his spike fully emerged, revealing itself completely. Sunstreaker’s lips, already glistening with oral fluids and oils, parted in expectance.

“It’s so big,” he moaned, gazing at it in blatant reverence. “Give it to me.”

Indeed, in Sunstreaker’s optics, it was beyond gorgeous. An ideal shape, long and so, so perfectly thick. There were already several beads of lubricant forming at the end, one slowly trickling down to stop at the first line of crests decorating the proud spike.

“Gimme!” he repeated, almost whining his demand out like a petulant youngster for its favourite toy. He lurched forward, just enough to swipe at the fluids off his commander’s spike although it appeared to be a futile gesture; more welled up in the slit to replace what Sunstreaker had so quickly licked off.

Ultra Magnus made an agreeable sound and smirked. “I find it ironic how you, one of the most rowdiest of my soldiers, manages to magically transform into this spike-hungry slut.”

Sunstreaker was going to make a sharp retort to save his pride but the moment he glanced up the words immediately died. Ultra Magnus presence seemed to fill the entire room – perhaps not quite as inspiring as Optimus Prime’s – but Ultra Magnus retained a sort of domineering personality that demanded respect and obedience. Never mind what he heard others say concerning Ultra Magnus’ inability to adapt and perchance for orders.  With his bigger, well-armoured chassis, the towering smokestacks on those broad shoulders and the protective lenses covering his optics that promoted a sort of cold, detached aloofness, Sunstreaker was glad that he managed to get so close to the mech to discover... more redeeming attributes.

“Now... do I get what I want?”

Sunstreaker accompanied his question with a sultry smile, trailing the tip of his finger up the length of the spike, smearing the fluids up along it. As his finger begins its leisurely path down, his wrist is abruptly snatched in a crushing grip. With a grunt, Ultra Magnus kicked at his desk to propel himself and his chair backwards and the movement effectively pulled Sunstreaker forward, only his quick reflexes saving him from having his faceplate smashed on the floor. He found himself roughly hoisted up onto his pedes and when his warrior instincts kicked in – mostly out of sheer indignation of being handled like a second-rate recruit - he balled his fingers into a fist and swung forward.

He missed.

Ultra Magnus had anticipated his move, easily pushing him back. Sunstreaker fell against the massive desk, arms flung wide on either side, causing a whole stack of datapads to tumble onto the floor. Ultra Magnus ignored the fallen datapads completely, opting to settle himself between Sunstreaker’s splayed thighs.

Ultra Magnus sneers this time in a manner more befitting for a Decepticon brute. “Oh you’ll get it, I’ll give you exactly what you want, you insatiable little slut.”

“What the frag?!”

The golden twin bared his silvery-white denta and snarled, his injured pride now rearing up to defend itself. His anger wasn’t much of a factor though – it was painfully evident just how aroused he really was. His own fans were on full speed and his vents kept cycling air from the exertion and excitement. The other mech responded by looming over him, his red and blue bulk cutting off the light above him so all he could concentrate on was the soft glow of Ultra Magnus’ blue optic covers. Sunstreaker yelped when his legs were grabbed roughly in big hands, palms sliding up to the knee joints before they were pressed apart and out. Ultra Magnus smiled appreciatively at the nice, uninterrupted display beneath him and he leaned forward between the strained thighs, close enough until he could detect the tantalising hint of Sunstreaker’s lubricating fluids. 

“Open up, Sunstreaker,” Ultra Magnus crooned encouragingly. “Show me how hungry that hot, tight valve of yours is for me. And do remember that I am a superior officer so you are obliged to call me Sir. At  _all_   times.” 

* * *

 

** >> stretch **

Sunstreaker was incredibly wanton when lust overtook his processor. “Put it in... c’mon, put it in.”

Ultra Magnus  _purred_  at the sight laid down in front of him. Sunstreaker was every bit as delectable as those expensive energon truffles he used to have back in Iacon.  He inched a little forward and rotated his hips in a circle, scraping the tip of his spike against the rim of Sunstreaker’s leaking valve.

“Now, that’s no way to talk to a commanding officer,” Ultra Magnus murmured as shifted his palms on the widely spread thighs.

Sunstreaker’s vents were cycling continuously for fresh air and the heat wafting from his quivering chassis was almost palpable. His wrists were bound with cuffs, positioned above his head and the fingers twitched.  “Oh Ultra Magnus Sir... I beg of you! Punish me for my insubordination! Please use me accordingly!”

“Hrm..”

Ultra Magnus watched as he teased that hungry opening once again with his spike, this time sliding just a little inside. The result was almost instantaneous – Sunstreaker’s valve visibly clenched and a hot burst of fresh lubricant surged to dribble from the table’s edge. The twin mewled and Ultra Magnus felt his own circuits sizzle from a heady rush of lust. Whatever resolve he possessed shattered.

“Beg, you little slut,” the commander snarled.

Sunstreaker’s optics flashed with defiance; he wasn’t so far gone to forgo his pride but when Ultra Magnus leaned forward, so did his spike... descending a little more inside. Sunstreaker gasped and he arched his backstruts, moaning loudly.

“Face me, face me, face me with that fraggin’ spike of yours!” His begging had almost degenerated to a mixture of chants and half-slurs.

The commander made a pleased sound. “Like this, you mean?”

Ultra Magnus leaned back, his hands flat on Sunstreaker’s kneecaps and began to push... not once stopping. He saw how Sunstreaker’s valve widened to accept him, the rim stretching tautly over the massive width of his spike. And Ultra Magnus undeniably liked what he saw; liking the obscene sight of his spike coated liberally of Sunstreaker’s fluids each time he pulled a little out, only to shove himself more and more inside. He liked how the painfully tight and hot it felt within the other, how those powerful thighs shook helplessly beneath his hands. And oh.. how could he ever forget how marvellous Sunstreaker looked. Those too-bright, almost white optics and that full mouth working and closing silently, oil running from the corners of his lips and down the side of his face plates.

When he was only half-way inside, he heaved long sigh through his intakes and it took every ounce of his self-control to stop. Condensation was already beading on the windscreen of his alt-mode.

“Do you like me inside you?”

Sunstreaker didn’t answer. His back seemed to have frozen into a permanent arch, shoulders pressing solidly on the desk. The only thing he could manage were short, breathy gasps. Even his spike was extended; a testament of how aroused he was. Ultra Magnus ran his glossa over his own lip components, coating them in a light sheen of protective oils before he dug the tips of his fingers into the plating of Sunstreaker’s legs, prompting him with a demanding bark.

“Well?! Do you like being stretched and filled like some loose-valved pleasure bot?”

Sunstreaker hardly appeared lucid. “Y-Yes…Are you all the way inside?”

Ultra Magnus smiled faintly and in one strong thrust sheathed himself completely inside the clenching valve.

 “Oh now I am.”

“ _Primus!_ ”

And Sunstreaker wailed, rolling his helm against the surface of the desk while he thrashed almost violently beneath Ultra Magnus’ grip who was hissing at the vice-grip squeezing his spike. Sunstreaker had overloaded hard, utterly overwhelmed when the sensor nodes lining along his inner walls were so brutally stimulated. Transfluid coated his abdominal plating in long, forceful squirts, energy still rolling from his pulsing spark chamber in waves.

Ultra Magnus normally would have felt that small twinge of frustration that his lover had climaxed without him, but instead all he felt was an arrogant sense of smugness. Sunstreaker, he vowed, would overload many, many times more by the time he was through with him. He could even still feel the little aftershock spasms surrounding him, delightfully teasing the pressure-sensitive nodes along the length of his spike.

“Did that feel good?” he smiled.

Pained, static-laced gurgles bubbled up from the dazed twin’s vocaliser, his faceplates twisted into a grimace.  “Oh... oh...you f-fraggin’ slagger...”

Ultra Magnus dragged the tips of his fingers up Sunstreaker’s thighs, irritating the plating and almost certainly scratching the paint. The benevolent smile continued to remain on his face. “You seem to have forgotten something.”

A gasp. “Sir!”

“Mmm....so you do learn...”

He slowly eased himself out of Sunstreaker, a quiet appreciative groan escaping his mouth. Energon-tinted – no doubt, there must have been a tear somewhere - lubricant gushed out from the distended valve, seeping into the golden plating and down onto the desk’s surface. But Ultra Magnus couldn’t find it in himself to feel sympathetic and end their tryst there. Sunstreaker had pleaded like a two-credit whore after all. And he still hadn’t overloaded himself. It wasn’t too hard to understand that all he wanted to do was bury himself back into the mech below him, savour that drenched heat, and pound into him until pleasure overtook him.

Ultra Magnus’ helm turned quickly towards the door. Someone was outside, pinging quite insistently to be let in. Sunstreaker’s optics brightened at the edges as he widened them and he moaned, bound hands rising and then hitting the desk with a muted  _thunk_.

“Tell him to go away.”

He glanced down. “Who?”

“ _Him_. He probably thinks you’re hurting me.”

The verification system outside confirmed that it was indeed Sideswipe. Ultra Magnus ignored the persisting lust that was jumbling up his processor thoughts and sending them to disarray and instead managed to swiftly located Sideswipe’s private communication frequency.

 _< Is this an urgent matter?> _He sent out.

_< What the pit are you doing to him?!>_

_< We’re interfacing.>_

Sideswipe faltered, not expecting to be answered so bluntly and Ultra Magnus could almost envision him pacing outside the office like some sort of impatient beast.

_< It’s not interfacing I’m feeling over here, you piece of slag! You’re hurting him!>_

_< Fine,>_ he sighed although a tiny, wicked idea began to curl around his cpu.  _< Why don’t you come and see for yourself.>_

The moment the door slid open, Sideswipe stomped in with a face like a thundercloud, all intent to punch his superior’s head in. Ultra Magnus had heard that spark-twin bonds were quite strong, but he wasn’t aware just how close these two were. The red frontliner’s core temperature was almost through the roof and the sound of his internal fans whirring was almost rivalling the other two mechs’.

“I swear if you...” his words had trailed off when he saw exactly what was happening.

Sideswipe was now blatantly staring. His optics roved over his brother’s chassis, slowly from the cuffed wrists, from the beautiful faceplates that were contorted into an expression consisting of both pleasure and pain, the straining neck cables and down, down to the spread legs. Fluids were everywhere – barely dried on his abdomen, dripping from the edge of the desk and still oozing from that opening between Sunstreaker’s thighs. Then Sideswipe’s optics zeroed in onto Ultra Magnus’ glistening spike. His lips parted as he took in the impressive size and shape and those protrusions lining the otherwise smooth surface, gazing at it as if lost in a trance.

“Damn it, Sunny! You forgot to mute the bond!” Sideswipe snapped when he finally got a firm grip of himself.

The wicked idea that Ultra Magnus was previously entertaining became all that more plausible now.

Sunstreaker positively screamed this time when he was penetrated again and Ultra Magnus was beyond grateful that the walls were soundproofed. The golden twin’s valve was a little more relaxed now because of the first overload but a whole lot more sensitive.... he was writhing on the desk like a glitch mouse trapped by its tail, bucking his pelvis up and almost jarring Ultra Magnus out of him.

“Stay still,” the commander growled, his big hands leaving Sunstreaker’s legs in favour for his aft instead, grabbing it so he could brace it in the air. It gave him better leverage, allowing him to tilt his spike up to push hard inside where he knew Sunstreaker would feel it the most.

He was not gentle at all when he began to drive himself in and out of Sunstreaker’s body; those amazingly soft walls rippled around the intruding spike, hungrily sucking in it as if eager to never let it go. Ultra Magnus’ engine revved excitedly; the pressure now was absolutely perfect... not unbearably constricting like before and definitely not loose as not to derive any pleasure at all.

Poor Sideswipe, on the other hand, whimpered and swayed dangerously on his pedes. When Sunstreaker received a particularly forceful thrust, Sideswipe moaned and fell onto his knees, trembling from the strong sensations his brother was experiencing. One hand was flat on the floor while the other pressed against that still closed panel – probably in an attempt to keep it from opening. Apparently their bond was much more potent when the twins were in close vicinity of each other.

Ultra Magnus slowed the movement of his hips to a relatively easy rhythm. He had fixated his full attention on Sideswipe however. “Sideswipe...” he began, the usual commandeering tenor of his voice now lowered to a hoarse growl.

The red mech’s helm lolled to the right before he managed to lift it with great difficulty.

“I wonder.... can I get you to scream as loud as your brother?”

A low, needy moan. “Stop...” No doubt he could hear the wet sounds of Sunstreaker’s valve being pounded, over and over again and it was probably driving him insane.

Ultra Magnus smirked sadistically. “And also... is that valve of yours as eager as your brother’s?”

Sideswipe’s panel clicked open. Like Sunstreaker, his own fluids trickled out straight into his waiting palm, straight through the gaps of his fingers before splattering onto the floor.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm open to prompt suggestions. I can't guarantee that I'll do all of them though so msg me here or tumblr (sexlessdemon19) if you want something specific.


	7. [IDW] Sentinel Prime/Prowl >> idolism+unconcern

** >> idolism ** ** **

A disdainful snort and the low  _chinking_ sound of chain links being rubbed together. “Those ignorant fools. Believing that they were personally elected by Primus himself to dictate  _my_ state of affairs.”

Prowl shifted the massive pede with careful hands so it could sit more comfortably on his lap and then ran his fingers lovingly up the smooth planes. He delved them into the solid tracks situated on the sides, tracing the intricate gears slowly.

Incensed, Sentinel Prime continued ranting, “I petition for better upgrades and more supplies-“  

Seemingly focused on his tirade, he kicked his leg out in an attempt to dispel his frustrations. Prowl grunted as the edge caught his abdomen, his vents hitching to dampen the sudden rush of pain that lanced up his systems from the forceful impact.

“-but they seem intent on repeating that cycle-old excuse over and over again!”

It was unclear whether Sentinel Prime was aware of the deep score he bestowed upon his loyal assistant or not...more than likely he chose to ignore it. Ever stoic, Prowl gritted his denta together until the pain passed, pausing only briefly in his task before carrying on his gentle caresses. Wrapping an arm around the treads and the back panels of the powerful leg, he leaned forward to press his mouth lightly on the luxurious orange-painted metal.

“I will fill another batch of those petition forms, Sir,” the assistant murmured calmly while he kissed up Sentinel Prime’s leg.

“Do they not realise just how  _bad_ Kaon really is? Do they not even read the reports I send them?”

Sentinel Prime banged his fist on the chair’s armrest and it would have made Prowl jump if he wasn’t used to it already.

“I will be sure to re-label those reports with a higher priority stamp, Sir.”

He wiggled on his knees, jostling the other mech’s leg a little but didn’t stop laving the limb with more kisses and soft, little licks. The dull throb in his abdomen had steadily migrated to his interface array, heat spreading slowly through the circuits and cables around his pelvic region. He pressed his palm firmly on Sentinel’s plating, dragging it up to the back of the knee joint where his fingers brushed against the gears there.

“And all they appear to do is simply  _whine_  as if they have no other function in that entire, sorry existence of theirs. They complain of the dwindling energon stocks and yet, I am willing to wager my struts that they have the entire planet’s supply secretly stashed somewhere.”

Prowl glanced up, his optics shining with devoted awe. “Sir, perhaps if I were to file an investigation-“

“I did not ask you to waste my time with your opinion, Prowl!” Sentinel Prime snarled with a short glare, as if noticing his subordinate on the floor before him for the very first time.

Prowl submissively lowered his gaze. “My apologies, Sentinal Prime Sir.”

With an annoyed sound, the Prime tugged at the long length of chain wrapped around his fist. Prowl yelped when the collar around his throat tightened, just barely stopping himself from what would have been a very ungraceful fall.

“Make it worthwhile, Prowl,” Sentinel Prime purred dangerously, flicking two fingers uncaringly against the other mech’s red chevron. “I am not in the mood to search for a new assistant.”

Fear flashed in Prowl’s optics, his fuel tanks churning with the prospect of being replaced by some _unworthy_  mech or femme. He viewed Sentinel Prime as a god to be placed upon a high pedestal... and in his cpu, only  _he himself_ was worthy enough to worship him.

“Certainly, Sir.”

This was one of Prowl’s more private duties. Sentinel Prime enjoyed having his legs, particular the inside, thinner plating close to his pelvis, touched and played with. And Prowl, always efficient and competent, had already trained himself to be an expert at it. He hunched forward as much as the chain would allow, for his superior had shortened the leash, and began to nuzzle his facial dermaplating against a grey thigh. How he loved to feel the warm metal, and oh... that heady sense of power radiating through the plating that never failed to send his processor spinning with the rush.

Prowl could already feel that first trickle of lubricant making its way down his valve, tickling the sensitive walls with its presence and reminding him just how much he  _ached_.

Sentinel Prime’s legs were covered in varying levels of plating, building up his armour and covering up his vulnerabilities. Prowl’s nimble fingers sought out the gaps between them, finding the wires hidden underneath and carefully stimulating them. He pulled slightly, running the tips of his fingers down the length of one while rubbing a particularly dense cluster close to a mechanical joint with his other hand.

A dull metallic scrape of metal was heard when Prowl’s kneecaps slid further apart on the floor and torturous fantasies of him straddling Sentinel – no,  _his_ Sentinel Prime flitted through his processor, making his spark pulse yearningly against its chamber. Prowl moaned quietly to himself, burying his face into the thigh joint, his glossa extended as he tried to every single line he could find there. Sentinel Prime’s cables flexed as the assistant hummed along its thick length, teasing it with soft vibrations. Then he curled his glossa around the hydraulic tubing further back and pulled them closer to his mouth so he could suck lightly. His optics dimmed with pleasure, wishing that it was Sentinel Prime’s spike he had his lips wrapped around instead.

Heat was pouring off Sentinel Prime’s chassis and Prowl could not help from feeling that tiny little feeling of satisfaction. There was an insistent yank at his collar again, forcing him to rear away. He immediately focused his attention on the one strong thigh, pushing his glossa deep into the transformation seam. He could still taste the wax he had rubbed onto Sentinel Prime’s body cycles ago, the taste receptors on the tip of his glossa registering it as tangy and a little bitter. He didn’t mind of course. He never did.

His valve was now clenching in on itself, yearning to be stretched and filled.

Prowl’s hands trembled ever so slightly as he touched the prominent crotchplate, cupping both sides and holding his face close to the hot metal. Here he lapped at the textured metal enthusiastically like a well-trained pet, glossa probing every horizontal groove. The panel covering Sentinel Prime’s interface array remained stubbornly closed and Prowl was intent on getting it to slide back and finally be able to service his idol properly, as an assistant rightfully should. He squeezed the metal gently, kissing and licking along the panel seams. They were now glistening with Prowl’s oral fluids and he continued to tease the edges, attempting to coax the covering to open. To no avail.

The sensors coating his passage, ignited by the steady flow of lubricant, were screaming at him that he was more than ready for an interface session. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know it himself; his spark felt swollen in its chamber and the energon inside his fuel lines felt as if they were boiling with pent-up lust. Already a haze had settled in his processor, the craving he had for the Prime so deeply rooted that it had began to override his logic protocols.

“Sentinel Prime, Sir...” Prowl whispered pleadingly, rubbing his faceplates shamelessly against the proudly displayed crotch in front of him, desperate to smell at least a hint of arousal from his superior. “Please, let me serve you.”

There was no immediate reply. A startled gasp fell from his lips as his helm snapped backwards, the collar around his neck constricting to the point of crimping vital lines in his neck. Sentinel Prime callously jerked the chain in his hand, lifting Prowl up and away from his groin.

“I want to serve you, Sir...Please.”

“You’re grovelling, Prowl,” Sentinel Prime observed calmly. “You know better than to do that in my presence.”

And all Prowl could do was stare helplessly at the long, strict,  _magnificent_  visage above him. His interface panel had decided to retract on its own accord and Prowl barely managed to stifle his humiliated moan. The Prime dispassionately glanced down at his assistant’s newly exposed interface array, where the lubricant was already beading around the opening’s rim.

“Do whatever,” Sentinel Prime said after a long moment.

He relaxed his fingers, allowing the chain to uncoil and drop onto the floor with a loud clanking noise. Prowl, no longer fighting to keep himself from being garrotted, overcompensated and fell heavily back onto his knees. Sentinel stood up from his chair, towering over the prostrate form at his pedes. The orange mech’s optics showed no emotion, only the corners of his mouth were downturned in a gesture of displeasure.

“You’re pathetic. I expect those reports proof-read and on my desk by the next orbital cycle.”

Prowl watched miserably as his idol left the room without a backwards glance. He lay there, attention fixated at the closed door before he shoved his hand between his legs, fingering himself roughly and not caring if it hurt when the tips of his digits scratched at the tender lining of his valve in doing so. In fact, he revelled in the pain, lurching forward to balance himself on one elbow while he bowed his back struts, lifting his aft the air so he could twist his fingers inside as deep as they went.

His processor was already lost in the memories. That time long ago when Sentinel Prime had been furious when his campaign had hit a serious snag. Prowl, eager to impress, made the mistake of suggesting a different tactical approach that went completely against the original plans. Sentinel Prime had grabbed him, mech-handled him to the nearest wall and simply taken him there and then with so much force that Prowl had torn and bled.

_Sentinel Prime... Sir... I want to be important to you..._

His chassis was quivering with the approaching overload, the excess energy crackling around his neural net. What he was doing couldn’t even be called self-interfacing. It was just an act of desperation, edged with wretchedness. All he could think was that incident. And even though most of what he could initially remember were sensations of agony, unpleasant surprise and even a slight sense of betrayal... now, well... he fervently wished that Sentinel Prime would gift him again with the same experience. That he would feel that intimate connection once again. To feel that thick, _thick_ spike punishing him inside, giving him what he kept longing for, what he kept dreaming about.

When Prowl overloaded hard, it was  _his_ name that fell from his parted lips. He slumped down onto the floor exhausted and stared at his dripping fingers with disgust. His optics flickered back at the closed door, not exactly sure what he was waiting for.

Those reports need to be finished, he thought wearily to himself.

* * *

** >> unconcern **

Jazz wasn’t a mech who would allow others to frustrate him. It wasn’t his style. He’d just let the annoyances roll by him with barely a lingering thought. And because he rarely dwelled on anything, he remained always on top of the situation around him regardless of the obstacles. However there was one mech that truly exasperated him – Sentinel Prime. Thank the stars that Jazz did not have to directly serve under him. Even if he was still required to give that occasional report.

Speaking of which...

He stopped outside Sentinel Prime’s office and flicked his fingers over the numerical keypad outside to activate the sensor, announcing his arrival. There was a questioning ping from the occupant inside.

“Designation Jazz from Unit 12 here to report to Sentinel Prime,” he announced and then looked up, giving the surveillance camera a cheeky grin.

“Sentinel Prime Sir is expecting you.”

The door slid open and Jazz frowned lightly. Sentinel Prime’s aft of an assistant sounded...off. Uncharacteristically off. But it’s not as if he cared much. Instead, he entered the office, though not in his usual relaxed gait for Sentinel Prime had this uncanny ability of antagonising and intimidating him at the same time. He executed a smart salute and gave the standing assistant a brief, passing glance – sure the mech was cute in that prissy sort of way and he did ask him out once only to be rejected but really, there were plenty of others he could have much more fun with. 

There was a smell floating around in the room that had Jazz’s olfactory senses tingle...faintly sweet and oddly familiar.

Sentinel Prime was standing before a holographic display, his massive stature taking up most of the office with its sheer overwhelming presence. And he didn’t even warrant the newcomer with a look of acknowledgement... which suited Jazz just fine. He always felt as if he was being dissected like some scientific experiment under Sentinel Prime’s looks anyway.

“Any news about that shipment that was  _supposed_ to have been here?”

Jazz really,  _really_  hated being the bearer of bad news. “Uh, Sir, the transport shuttle experienced some mechanical problems and it’ll be delayed...”

Sentinel Prime’s optics flared angrily towards his direction and Jazz prided himself in not cringing. He was a professional after all.

“For how long will it be delayed?” Sentinel Prime asked, though his words sounded as if they were practically gritted out.

Jazz sensitive audio receptors caught the soft sound of something splattering on the floor. And that smell still persisted.

“I’m told around seven cycles...but they’re working on it real fast, so it might be reduced down to five-“

“I was not looking for excuses, soldier,” the other mech interrupted him tersely.

 _And you can go frag a drone_ , Jazz thought nastily to himself. Out loud, he said, “Sorry, Sir.”

Sentinel Prime rubbed two fingers underneath his optics wearily and turned around, presenting his broad back to Jazz. “Very well. You may start your report.”

There was that splattering sound again. What  _was_ that? He automatically looked at the energon dispenser for any leaks but the contraption looked pretty intact. Shrugging it off, he cycled the air through his vents and began speaking.

“Unit 14 have successfully stopped the riot down in the centre and most of the major ring leaders have been arrested. Three civilian casualties, none on our side. We’ve discovered new rumours that the network extends deeper than we originally thought and it’s possibly linked to the illegal fighting pits that-“

Jazz rattled on and on, not really paying attention to what he was saying. Instead he was reading the script he had hastily written, programming the text to slowly scroll in a window he had opened. One part of his processor was occupied with the report, while the other was thinking about an upcoming mission. His optics, safely concealed behind the visor, wandered around the room, desperate for some form of visual stimulation.

Hrm...Perhaps he should look at the pretty little assistant again. Should he ask him out again? Could be lucky second time around. But probably not.

Jazz’s gaze settled onto Prowl and the moment it did, he faltered on his report, stuttering his words as his vision rebooted from the surprise. And then he recognised what the smell was. The realisation hit him hard, causing his system to instinctively react to it.

Richly scented, spent transfluid. And Prowl positively reeked from it.

Really, he didn’t know how he could have missed the sight the first time around. It was everywhere; covering Prowl’s faceplates and running down his chestplates in drying streaks as if he was part of some territorial ritual and marked as someone’s property. Jazz’s optics zeroed on a particularly thick bead dribbling down his finely sculpted cheek, curving around the dermaplating until Prowl stuck out his glossa as if he was going to swipe at it...but their optics met and Prowl turned his face away in shame. Jazz looked further down, noticing for the first time that the assistant’s interface panel was fully retracted... and the splattering sound was coming from him; lubricant already forming a small puddle on the space between his slightly spread pedes.

“Why did you stop?” Sentinel Prime suddenly barked from his far right.

Astonished, Jazz snapped his helm towards the leader.  He opened his mouth and closed it a couple of times, completely at a loss. Did Sentinel Prime not notice... or even care? His gaze automatically fell down to the dark crotch plate and he was almost surprised at himself when a rush of heat coursed through his circuits at the thought of what sort of things Sentinel Prime must have done to his subordinate.

“M-My apologies, I got sidetracked there for a moment,” Jazz said, ever adaptable to a new and unpredictable situation.

His optics could not stop from straying back to Prowl. He was noticing a lot more details now. There were obvious scuffmarks littering the insides of Prowl’s thighs and several finger-sized dents. And that interface array...oh Primus. A cap covered the spike housing in some cruel block to keep the spike from extending fully and the valve had some sort of device inside it – two curved, flat pieces of metal that were hinged together and locked into position – spreading the rim wide and keeping it open, as if the valve itself was begging to be penetrated. Arousal spread through Jazz’s frame like wildfire at the sight.

“I do not have time to play games, Jazz. Either you are going to continue with the report or I shall call for someone else more competent.”

_No, Sentinel. The question is, what sort of game are you playing at?_

Jazz continued to read through his report but it was all on auto-pilot. Sentinel Prime circled around him and Jazz almost shivered as that large presence passed by him. He then neared Prowl and callously shoved the unresisting mech flat on the desk – but only to make enough room so he could comfortably sit behind it. The Prime leaned back in his chair, forming his fingers together into a steeple and the expression on his faceplates could only be described as indifferent. Regardless of whether he had his assistant sprawled before him like a common pleasure-model.

In fact, Jazz was starting to believe that Sentinel Prime possessed a serious glitch in his programming.

But Prowl...oh Prowl. He was now on his back, doorwings spread underneath him and the sight of his valve kept open by that speculum was downright obscene. Lubricant would not stop flowing, the viscous liquid slowly edging over the lip of that enticing valve. Jazz forced himself to stare at some point on the wall as he was nearing the end of his accursed report. Yet he was interrupted again by a low-pitched whimper. It was virtually impossible  _not_ to look back; Prowl’s limbs were twitching and that lubricant kept trickling out of that empty hole between his thighs. Jazz could see straight up inside it.

“Behave, Prowl,” Sentinel Prime reprimanded. “You don’t want to be replaced do you?”

Prowl’s optics widened with alarm before falling silent, his internal fans spinning at top speed. In that case, so where Jazz’s. The combined scent of Prowl’s lubricant and Sentinel Prime’s transfluid was slowly driving him insane, filling his cpu with filthy visions of what he would like to do to the other black and white mech. Like jam as many fingers as he could into that slut’s valve until the joints of his hands were soaked in fluids before shoving his aching spike inside and interfacing him hard on that desk.

With Sentinel Prime watching. Right next to them.

Jazz was trembling with need by the time he finished his report.  Sentinel Prime, of course, sat there unmoving as if he were some sort of impassive deity judging the mortals before him. And then there was Prowl staring at his god with that disgustingly adoring expression on his face. Jazz mentally snarled, gripped by an inexplicable urge to overload straight onto that beautiful face and rub his own offering into the soft dermaplating alongside with Sentinel’s.

That final thought clinched it, smashing away what was left of his resolve. He nearly lost control of the gears in his knees and just barely managed to catch himself from collapsing. Instead, he grabbed the edge of the desk and bent forward, his own hips uncomfortably close to Prowl’s interface.

“At the risk of sounding too forward, Sir...but, what is this?” Jazz demanded.

Sentinel Prime ignored the vehement glare thrown at him and countered it with a cool look of his own. “Him? You’re wasting your time and subsequently mine by paying attention to him. He’s worthless. Now...are you quite finished with your report?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You’re dismissed.”

“No.”

“No?”

Jazz nearly clenched his answer out from between his dental plates. Officer protocol could go to the pit for all he cared. “No Sir, I refuse to be dismissed.”

“Is that so...” Sentinel Prime tapped the tips of his fingers against each other as he regarded the other mech. “I could easily have you court marshalled.”

“I know,” Jazz rasped. Prowl was so close to him, smelling so sweetly and Jazz couldn’t even process anything beyond that. And here, he grinned widely. “But you won’t. You know I won’t waste your time.”

And though he knew it was a risk gambling away his career like that, taking chances was Jazz’s forte. He wouldn’t have gotten so far if he remained a speck in the background. Sentinel Prime’s optics brightened ever so slightly; whether from interest or annoyance, Jazz wasn’t entirely sure.

“Very well then,” Sentinel Prime said as he leaned back in his chair and purposely spread his legs. Arrogance seeped out from every seam of his chassis. “Get busy and I expect you to be proficient at what you are offering. But be quick; I have a lot of work to do after this.”

This time Prowl, previously quiet and submissive, decided to object. “Sir! You cannot possibly allow him to tou-“

“Silence,” Sentinel Prime snarled, all dominance and finality and Jazz’s lust burned even hotter if possible. “You will stay there until I deem you  _worthy_  enough.”

By now, Jazz had hoisted himself up onto the desk, ignoring the transparent jealousy that flared in Prowl’s optics as he literally crawled over him to reach Sentinel Prime’s parted thighs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm open to prompt suggestions. I can't guarantee that I'll do all of them though so msg me here or tumblr (sexlessdemon19) if you want something specific.


	8. [G1] Optimus Prime/Prowl >> second-best

“I am highly against you leaving for Cybertron.”

“Come now Prowl...you know I have to go.”

Clever blue fingers danced up Prowl’s prominent chest, tracing the round headlights lovingly. But even in the throes of passion, Optimus’ second-in-command remained apprehensive.

“T-There is a 48.29% probability that your transport will be – ah! – attacked by Decepticons!”

Prowl’s fingers curled into the broad shoulders in front of him, balancing himself as he lifted himself slowly from Optimus’ lap. His pale thighs were skewed wide over the other mech’s legs, the cables taut and visible at his pelvic gaps. Lubricant was smeared all over his exposed interface array and in the middle, the Autobot’s leader’s thick, long spike pierced his valve.

“There is always a chance of Decepticons attacking,” Optimus murmured as he kissed up the neck tubing, feeling the energon thrum strongly against his lips.

“It is an unnecessary risk for you take,” Prowl insisted with a small moan, throwing his helm back and presenting more of his long throat to his leader. The tip of Optimus’ spike now rested on the outside of his valve and Prowl rolled his hips to feel it scrape against the rim, keeping himself upright and tantalisingly out of reach.

“It’s a risk that...oh mmm keep doing that...that I have to take.”

“I can easily arrange a holovid conference for you and the delegates through the network-“

“ _Slag it Prowl_!”

Optimus made an abrupt noise of dissatisfaction, reaching over to Prowl’s hips and slamming him back down until he was once more buried inside until the hilt. A breathless cry escaped the tactician’s mouth at the sudden movement and he tried to push himself up again but Optimus kept him still, revelling in the feel of that hot, wet valve he so much loved flex rhythmically around his spike.

“What’s the real reason?” Optimus asked quietly. “Why don’t you want me to go?”

Prowl had his helm bowed, his red chevron pressed against the top of Optimus’ chestplates. Warm air wafted from his vents, condensing on the glass of the leader’s alt-mode. He remained silent for a long moment before one of his hands drifted up from smooth metal of Optimus’ shoulders, up to the side of his helm so he could wrap his fingers around one of the protruding antennas.

“Fuck me,” Prowl said instead.

Optimus’ optics flickered at Prowl’s unexpected use of the human curse word. “Prowl, what’s-“

“Fuck me.”

Surprised, Optimus made no move to obey and Prowl’s hand constricted painfully around his antenna. This time when Prowl repeated his crude demand for a third time, he positively snarled out the words. “Fuck me, you sadistic glitch!”

While he debated whether to throw Prowl off him or just tell him to stop his appalling behaviour, the other mech made the decision for him by  _clenching_  around him and simultaneously gyrating his hips. All the sensor-rich ridges lining his aching length ignited with Prowl’s deliberate motion and the reprimand he was mentally preparing dwindled into a staticky groan.

Prowl gave him no respite and rode him mercilessly; firmly clamping his pristine white hands back onto the shoulders in front of him. He grunted as he used the powerful hydraulic cables in his legs to piston himself up, up until Prime’s spike visibly glistened with lubricant and then back down, practically skewering himself until the spike was swallowed inside his hungry valve again. Prowl continued this action, over and over until Optimus’ processor was overwritten with desire and heat, registering nothing but the throbbing cocoon wrapped snugly around him. He slid his palms along the other’s sensitive side plating to finally seize Prowl’s hips, helping him move faster and more vigorously.

The terminal built into his desk began to beep insistently, signifying an incoming call. Optimus turned towards it, managing to catch Elita-1’s name flashing on the screen before he was yanked back insistently by a firm hand on his helm. Important or not, there was no way that Prowl would have allowed him to answer it... the tactician now commanded absolute attention from the Autobot leader.

“Is this how you wanted to be  _fucked_?” Optimus growled and the alien word left an unpleasant taste on his oral receptors. “Like some shameless pleasure-femme from Kaon?”

The beeping continued.

“Yessss,” Prowl hissed, baring his denta into a rare, savage smile that Optimus only witnessed on the battlefield.

It was an amazing sight. To watch such a logic-driven mech act as if possessed by some form of interfacing virus. Prowl’s engine was revving high with excitement and the resulting vibrations hit Optimus hard, making his own engine roar even deeper in answer. He strained his backstruts, tilting his chin upwards to eagerly kiss the tactician’s wide-open, gasping mouth. But instead, Optimus found himself slammed back down onto the chair, Prowl’s hand pressed flat onto his windshield, fingers scratching into the glass with a grating squeal. It would have annoyed him but he was too far gone to care... especially with the way Prowl was now throwing his helm left and right in wild abandonment. In fact Prowl appeared  _delirious_ with lust; optics so bright they were glowing, small quiet sobs escaping his vocaliser, doorwings quivering.

At last, the beeping stopped. He hardly noticed.

“Optimus...Optimus...”

Prowl was moaning his designation continuously and it was obvious that he was close to overload. Optimus bucked his pelvis upwards, meeting Prowl’s frantic downward thrusts halfway. He could feel Prowl’s warm lubricant stream down his interface array, pooling at his spike housing and down the inner plating of his thighs and it only served to spur him on more, pushing his spike deeper into the steadily tightening valve until pleasure overtook him so strongly it nearly shorted his circuits. Only  _then_ did Prowl see it fit to kiss him. Oil-slicked lips mashed against his own, Prowl almost devouring the inside components of his mouth with his glossa, grinding his hips down hard until the rim of his valve sat flush with Optimus’ housing.

He really did love being inside Prowl’s hot, wet valve especially when it gripped his spike so tightly as if never wanting to let him go.

When it was over, Optimus wrapped his arms around Prowl. He had the other mech twist his torso slightly so he could hold him as close as he could, given the extended front of Prowl’s Datsun alt-mode. They sat there unmoving while their bodies slowly cooled and their fans clicked off one by one.

“So...want to tell me what all that was about?” Optimus asked, running an affectionate hand down Prowl’s back.

It took a whole bream until Prowl responded. “I do not want you to go back to  _her_.”

A weary sigh filtered through Optimus’ vents. “Prowl. We’ve been through this more times than I care to count.”

“I realise that I am being illogically sentimental – perhaps immature – concerning this arrangement...”

“What we have is  _not_ some arrangement,” Optimus said defensively.

Prowl continued regardless, his voice becoming bleaker with each passing word. “I foolishly believed that the pain would ease with each encounter but it only seems to get worse. I keep reminding myself that is my duty, an honour-“

“Stop saying things like that!”

Optimus took Prowl by the shoulders, shaking him a couple of times as if he could physically clear these ridiculous statements from his subordinate’s processor. But Prowl only stared at him with dim optics and a defeated expression edged on his fine features.

“Don’t you think...?” Prowl rasped out miserably. “...that it’s rather ironic that the twins call me a sparkless drone when they cannot possibly fathom just how much it  _hurts_  to be considered as nothing more than a wartime convenience? Knowing that nothing will come from this...thing we have?”

Optimus’ spark sank in its casing and his hands dropped heavily by his sides. “Prowl... what would you have me do? Defy the Council?”

The blue light in Prowl’s optics brightened. “You have to make a decision. Me or her. You cannot have us both.”

He was a leader of an entire army faction. He made split-second decisions at the heat of the moment, under the pressure of the battlefield. Now, his mouth gaped stupidly, processors blank.

“Me or her.”

Optimus shook his helm. “Prowl...I...you cannot expect me to-”

However, Prowl’s voice was firm in its resolution. “No, Optimus. For once I am thinking of my own wellbeing. I cannot go on like this, not knowing where I am stand. I do not want to be just  _useful_.”

“You out of all should understand that as Prime, I am forced to follow a series of protocols. I have to follow the Council’s wishes. I  _have_ to produce an heir with her when the time comes.”

Prowl’s faceplates drew tight, twisting with grief. “I would gladly give you an heir,” he whispered. “As many as you’d like.”

Optimus’ optics dimmed with sad resignation. “They would be seen as illegitimate, Prowl. Elita is my chosen, regardless of whether I wanted it or not. I can’t just toss her away like that.”

The other mech nodded and his face slackened, the desperation quickly washed away only to be replaced by the customary flat, unemotional expression he usually wore. “Thank you for your prompt response, Sir.”

The Prime watched helplessly, barely feeling the sensation of his still extended spike sliding out Prowl’s valve. The sight of their mixed fluids dripping down Prowl’s thighs would usually have him heating up again, ready for another round. This time, he felt powerless to stop Prowl from getting off from his lap and standing up to clean himself off with a rag. Despite the fact that Optimus was close enough to easily pull Prowl back into his arms, he felt already separated, unable to reach over the now palpable distance between them; an invisible chasm that would forever divide them.

“I have prepared several template reports for your convenience,” Prowl stated with that thrice-damned cold manner of his as he ruthlessly rubbed away the evidence left from their coupling, and with it, everything they had ever shared.

“Prowl... _please_ understand,” Optimus choked out. “I don’t want to lose you...what we have...”

With a soft  _snick,_ the tactician covered up his interface array. He threw away the soiled rag he had been using into the waste receptacle and pulled another clean one from subspace. With a flick of his wrist, he dropped the cloth onto the desk. His doorwings hitched upwards, held up high. “The shuttle will be ready in two groons. I suggest you visit the washracks and make yourself presentable until then.”

Optimus jolted in his seat, slamming his palms angrily onto the surface of the desk. A stack of datapads rattled before toppling over. “Frag you, Prowl! Can’t you see that my hands are tied?!”

And yet Prowl ignored his leader, still talking with an indifferent tone as if he was reading off a list. “I will send you daily reports on the  _Ark_. I have also prepared a biographical synopsis of the delegates you are to confer with; you will find that with the other reports. Please read them on the flight.”

_“Prowl!”_

With a smart pivot of his pedes, Prowl left. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm open to prompt suggestions. I can't guarantee that I'll do all of them though so msg me here or tumblr (sexlessdemon19) if you want something specific.


	9. [G1] Sunstorm + Acidstorm >> worship

“For the peace of Primus and the salvation of my spark, let me pray to You, my Maker.”

He lay on his back on Cybertron’s unforgiving ground, optics staring up unseeingly at the stars above. His chassis writhed, the flat planes of his wings scraping horribly as he dragged his backstruts across to bend his knees and cant his hips upwards, as if offering the spike that jutted proudly from his bared interface to Primus himself.

And in Sunstorm’s mind, it was a humble offering for his deity’s omnipresent optics alone.

“Ah… mmm, Primus, my saviour…”

Incoherent words, half slurred and laced with static fell past Sunstorm’s gasping mouth. He stroked the hot surface of his straining spike, fingers tracing each sensor-rich ridge lining the underside until he was shivering with need. Below, his valve lay wet, empty; a tiny dark opening visibly twitching and obviously yearning to be filled. Glistening lubricant trickled from the flexible rim, curving around the metal of his aft.

“Primus, my Maker, my Creator whose power is beyond compare, and glory is beyond mere calculation; whose mercy is infinite, and whose love for me, his utmost loyal creation, knows no bounds...”

A burst of hot air, thin on the planet’s light atmosphere, hissed from his vents and Sunstorm’s optics flared brightly. He gripped his spike with tight fingers, almost punishingly so and twisted his hand around the long shaft. The other white hand glided down the rounded glass of his cockpit and with a savage grin upon his face, he dug the tips of his claws into the semi-transparent surface. He scratched down it, down his abdomen plates and up his inner thighs with an ugly squeal of tearing metal. And yet despite his self-inflicted injuries, Sunstorm continued to pump his needy spike, pinching the tip cruelly and then smoothing down the wetness around the slit with a slow grind of his thumb. In fact, he seemed to enjoy the pain.

“Look upon me and upon this vast universe in Your compassion. Grant to me and to those who pray with you,” Sunstorm whispered above him. He tried to vocalise his next set of words but all that poured out were a series of rapid clicks. A burst of static to recalibrate his vocaliser and when he spoke again, the rasp in his voice was noticeably heavier. “Your abundant mercy.”

When the tip of Sunstorm’s pede pushed forward, it left behind a long line of scorched metal. The air around him began to shimmer as an unbearable wall of heat rose from his frame, spilling out from all sides. The heat spiked sharply when he plunged two fingers past the dripping hole of his valve. He was brutal with his body; scissoring them wide inside himself and not giving the stiff passage time to adjust to the intrusion. But, to him, pain was needed to cleanse the impurities of one’s spark and that... was a pleasure in itself.

Sunstorm whimpered and he stroked his ridged spike harder, faster, from the raised frame of his housing up to the wet, over-sensitised head. The hard grasp of his hand coincided nicely with the feel of his fingers working and pressing deeper up against his valve and as another fan clicked on within his chassis, he stuffed a third finger inside. But it wasn’t enough...he needed more, needed to show more devotion...

He ripped his hand away from his spike and forced the two fingers of that hand into the already full hole of his valve. Five thick fingers stretched the wet opening, lubricant squelching past his digits as his hips thumped onto the ground, his long thighs splayed wide.  The hard spike continued to leak, the shaft gleaming with fluids as it continued to point upwards, neglected and starved for touch. Sunstorm pushed his pelvis forward and the fingers slipped up deeper into his valve, hooking around the rim to widen it even further; as if he was presenting himself, showing his Lord how much he could fit inside. He imagined Primus shoving a massive, unyielding spike into his willing body, pushing it deep, deep until it ripped him apart, leaving him splayed open so that his Lord could feed from his spark, to gorge himself with all the devotion Sunstorm could offer.

“Let me say with the whole of my spark and my full processing power, let me cry out –“ The Seeker’s turbine whined high, nearly drowning out his shouted words, “–O Creator of Worlds, the God of the original Thirteen, I beseech Thee, ah! Hear me and have mercy!”

His resulting overload was phenomenal, a blazing glow that rose up from his convulsing frame, bright and deadly enough to sear everything around it. He opened his mouth to scream out his faith and all that came out was a fire-filled roar, powerful radiation pouring out of him and roasting the ground around him. Sunstorm gasped once and fell back down from the arch he had bowed his back into, straight into the groove he had melted beneath his body.

Many breams later and the sound of foreign jet thursters was heard approaching. Sunstorm’s bright optics flickered up into the sky, watching absently as a fellow Seeker dropped into a hover next to him.

“Did you finish praying?” Acidstorm asked, top lip pulled back with distaste as he surveyed the damage surrounding them. He was glad that his specially treated armour was able to withstand the slowly ebbing radiation that Sunstorm still continued to emit.

“Have you been converted to the will of our Lord Primus?” Sunstorm rasped instead, staticky voice still recovering. He stretched slightly where he lay, his beautiful golden armour healed and flawless once again.

“No,” Acidstorm replied. In spite of the flat voice he used, his own crimson gaze was fixed upon the clone’s bare interface array, optics hungrily drinking in the sight of that valve.

Sunstorm laughed low in his vocaliser, helm rolling to the side and he deliberately allowed the panel between his legs to slide shut, shielding his intimate components from the other mech. Then, the piercing light of his optics stared pointedly at the insides of Acidstorm’s thighs, specifically at the telltale matte smears of dried lubricant and transfluid splattered up the thinner abdominal plates. Acidstorm had been watching him from the distance again, it seemed, debasing Sunstorm’s offering to Primus by stealing it and using it for his own pleasure.

“Then you will rust in the Pit, heretic.”

Acidstorm’s mouth twisted into a sardonic smirk. “I’m sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm open to prompt suggestions. I can't guarantee that I'll do all of them though so msg me here or tumblr (sexlessdemon19) if you want something specific.


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